


Souvenirs of You

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Acceptance, Anger, Bargaining, Denial, Depression, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: For every day Lizzy is gone, Ciel writes her a letter.(You have gone too, haven’t you? Providence has clawed you from my grip and you senseless, selfish darling—)





	1. Hecate

_August 1889_

 

Never once have I thought I would ever be in such a position, writing letters to you behind my rosewood desk, with the golden sun behind me. I ask myself this, Elizabeth— _why have you gone?_ Are you prisoner, hostage, or willing guest? Do they serve you crème chantilly and strawberries or have they stolen the bloom from your cheeks, trapping you in caverns that deprive you of Apollo’s fire?

I’ve written endless pages of reports and claims, some for her majesty and others for Funtom, and I have always calculated my words carefully except now, in your absence, I write without thought. Is it because I know you shall never read this? That you will never look on this missive and feel pity for the child who hides behind pretense? Don’t think less of me Lizzy—not you, my last vestige of innocence and Arcadia. I look at you and I remember the spark of goodness that still resides in this world and the urge—the constant, pressing urge—to destroy everything I see or touch ebbs away, until it is a hoarse whisper that can easily be barred.

I loved you a summer ago, when gardenias grew around us and love was all we knew. You were beautiful then, just as you are now, so brave and so sweet, taking me by the hand as we went on little pretend adventures that sparked a flame in my heart and etched your touch into my skin. Did I know what love was when I was ten? Perhaps not. But I knew you Lizzy and you taught me what love could be. 

You think I do not remember and it is true my memory has faded—cracked and broken, like the ancient Roman temples—but there are moments that linger, soft and unsure, afraid of the abyss that now resides where my heart used to beat. But, I remember you, Lizzy, sitting tall and proud on the highest branch of the cherry tree, the August breeze blowing your curls back and your head titled towards the sun. Aunt Frances would later berate you for having forgone your bonnet and when I next saw you Lizzy, you had a light dusting of freckles across your nose but your smile was as bright as ever.

You silly, foolish girl, do you know what designs await you the longer you remain in Bravat's grasp? Corruption and sorrow, the bitterness of wormwood and the poison of the earth. There is nothing so important in this world as your innocence—your inherent, sweet goodness—but being so careless and infantile, you have snuck away, ignorant of what awaits you. My youthful, earthbound Hebe. Do you know how jealously I guard your purity? Your guileless charm and merry ways—and yet  _he,_ some garish servant of peculiar habits and terrible dress, has the gall to lure you away? 

Well, I shall simply have to steal you back.

You will smile and laugh for me again, an alter of daisies and spring—my last constant in life. You are far too good for this world, Elizabeth, and sometimes I wonder if you are even aware of the life you have willingly delved into without reservation or fear.

Truly, Lizzy—do you fear nothing at all? As a child I borrowed from your endless strength, cloaking my timidity with your steadfast courage and I remember (even now) how I promised that one day, it would be _I_ who could protect you. By week’s end, you will be asleep in your own bed, your worries gone with the night. You will remain pure as the graces themselves and never again will I allow you to be subject to the terrors of the underworld.

Upon your return, Lizzy, I shall set you free.

I promise.

 

_—Ciel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Arcadia: often known as a place of paradise but also the place that cannot be—the unattainable utopia. 
> 
> \- Cherry trees symbolize the shortness (and beauty) of life. In Ciel's case, the beauty of his short-lived childhood that he now associates with Lizzy. 
> 
> \- Hebe: Greek goddess of youth and cupbearer to the gods. (In my mind, Ciel always associates Lizzy with youth, innocence, laughter, and the memory of happiness.) 
> 
> \- Hecate: Greek goddess of crossroads, ghosts, magic, and necromancy. 
> 
> A/N: I've been meaning to post this story up for days but my wifi was super spotty while I was on vacation so here I am uploading it at 3 AM :3


	2. Lyssa

I suppose the masters of the universe are spiteful, vindictive creatures who delight in petty torments, drawing out their methods of torture until humanity gives in and becomes as vile as they once predicted. What a self-fulfilling prophecy. They must enjoy my various struggles and undertakings—those vicious, puerile hounds of hell.

After all, has my future been writ by the archaic hand of Hades? Is the Underworld to be my only consolation? If so, do the gods think I will cripple and fall under the weight of this heavy burden? Do they think they can break me with such fickle torments? I will rise again, time after time, breaking through the waves, for my empire is one of thorns and vice and not for all of heaven will I relinquish my hold on it. Do you suppose that my heart will soften at the sight of a dead orphan or innocent victim? Well let me tell you—there is no such thing as innocence in this world. Everyone grows up one day and they will either become the hangman or the slaughtered, there is no alternative. I should rather hold the knife than be guillotined and come what may, I will kill a thousand legions to bring you home.

Even if you are a silly, lost child, sitting in perfect ignorance, oblivious of my troubles. Lizzy, you sweet, precious thing—you are so unaware of the darkness of this world, aren’t you? So insulated and safe in your splendid white castle with your rose vines and idle youth. You do not know that this world is a feast of hunger, of man cannibalizing man in an attempt to elevate themselves above the fray.

Have you ever seen the blood soaked streets? Filth and lechery a perfect match against the dark grey sky and cloistered, ramshackle buildings whose decrepit nature only reinforce the broken morality of man, who passes by glassy eyed and dumb, with poison in their blood while women fall on their backs and children with dirtied hands steal coins and shillings from the prostitute’s skirts?

 _You_ were meant to be the antithesis to all this—my last vestige of light but no.

_No._

You have gone too, haven’t you? Providence has clawed you from my grip and you senseless, selfish darling—you’ve stolen away into the night because you can, isn’t that right? Shall I attach chains and shackles to you next time? Imprison you in a tower like fair Rapunzel because you've always liked those insipid fairytales now isn't that right? How well would you love me then, if I was to be your guard and jailor? Would your light dim? Would your laughter cease?

Why have you put me in such a position?

How _dare_ you. The sheer presumption in thinking—

I would rather see you shut away in a convent for all eternity than be kept from me, dangled like a morsel on a string. Does Bravat think I’ll capitulate? That I’ll give in simply because he has _you?_ I am not so weak willed as that. I care for nothing and no one—it is the only truth I will hold onto and damn it all, the abyss is all I have left because everyone has gone. The failure of my predecessor, the weakness of Madam Red, the disappearance of youth and beauty and—are you afraid, Lizzy?

Of course you’re not, my _sweet,_ simple cousin. How _happy_ you are. I have kept you from everything, so you remain unaware. I have burned and slaughtered and killed for _me._ Children and orphaned angels who try to do good...do you suppose I gave any consideration to _their_ humble, pathetic lives? I want to laugh and scream because _you don’t know._ You don’t know how I would gladly sacrifice all those who stand in my way so that I may exact my pound of flesh.

So remain there—stay where you are and rot among the dead and decaying corpses of those who have fallen under Bravat’s spell. Stay there, you imprudent little girl and see what I care.

Run away and be done with it—do you suppose you’re the only one with a capricious memory, capable of turning hearts and moonlighting in foolish frivolity? Let me break your heart and see how your smile shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Lyssa: Greek goddess of anger, rage, and frenzy. 
> 
> A/N: Stage two—anger. (Yes, I’m modeling these chapters on the five stages of grief so that’s why Ciel sounds like a sneering, cruel shadow of Sebastian here.)


	3. Hermes

_September 1889_

 

Even the sunlit gardens cannot eclipse your fair face and I wonder, dear one, if you might understand the depth of my devotion towards you? Of all the chances you’ve given me—of all the opportunities you’ve presented—I have missed each and every one. I am of two minds these days, half hoping you might return and half praying you do not. For when I die, no muses will sing. I will flit and roam aimlessly, a shade amidst the shadowy dead, unknown and forgotten. And you, Lizzy, were not meant for mourning.

However—my altruism and broken honor only extends so far and I am limited in my ability to do good. I want you by my side, even if I can never acknowledge you, even if you shall be left behind time and time again because even the thought of you Lizzy, just the memory of your smile, reminds me of so much. The subconscious contentment I derive in knowing that you are nearby, that you are _by my side,_ is what I want and need, despite how little I give you in return. But that is the nature of the world, isn’t it? The selfish and the selfless. You are selfless Lizzy, you will continue to love me even if I am of poorer pedigree and crueler heart and I will exploit that affection without shame because no one else will offer themselves to me so readily.

Yet now, under the whisper of the waning moon, against the promise of tonight, I ask you to _come home._

Have I hurt you in ways I do not know? Have I pushed you too far, past the brink of tolerance? Had this occurred while you were still here, still dressed in spring with roses in your cheeks, I would have been glad—would have carried your anger and resentment with pride because _Lizzy,_ it’d be the only decent thing I could have done since returning from that month. You’ve devoted yourself to me (I did not ask this of you) but have never once shown bitterness at the prospect of our bleak future together. Yet should you return to me, safe and unharmed, I swear to you that I will _try,_ Elizabeth.

Here, let me whisper to you a secret—the same ones we told each other as children—ink now stains my right hand, a permanent fixture of blue against skin. Here, Lizzy—here is a caress for all the times I flinched away from your touch. Here, Lizzy, here is the kiss I forgot to give and here, here are the fragments of my brittle and broken heart.

You, Elizabeth. You dear sweet apple perched on the highest branch of the tallest tree. Tell me, if I bartered with Demeter, if I offered her my eternal penance, would you fall into me? If you have been captivated by the sounds and thrills of the Sphere Music Hall, by their boisterous songs and bright silver, then come home and see that I have built you a music hall twice as grand. Do you delight in their nonsensical verse and foolhardy dance? Come home Lizzy and see what I have created for you.

Come home and you shall have all the delights of this earthly plane. I will offer you every precious little thing—all the gowns and songs and dances you so love.

Because while the folly of man has kept you astray, I know now that it was my own hubris that blinded me, for _I did not think I would miss you so._

I did not think my nights would be spent thinking of your smile and how you loved me even when I was young and graceless, falling over myself as we ran through the rose garden. I was desperate, then, to be by your side, to prove something inescapable and be acknowledged as your equal. Truth be told, I thought that month had burned the last vestiges of human emotion from my heart and when I looked at you, I thought you were little more than a distant dream.

But how can that be when I now bargain with the devil—when the madness of my mind deprives me of sleep and I sit for hours on end, awake and agonizing? It seems strange that the lonely night should conjure up images of you, bright and smiling. Would you like to dance, my lady? Take a turn with me about the ballroom? I was once reluctant to take your hand and you responded, my silly foolish girl, by shattering the Phantomhive ring. The noose and collar that ties me to queen and country.

Yet if you should return, if you should come back to me, I will give you the melodies of Mozart and waltz with you through the gilded Viennese halls without complaint or question.

So, let me gamble now with what little I have and ask, _Lizzy—will you come home?_

 

_—Ciel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- “For when I die, no muses will sing…” — comes from Sappho’s 33rd fragment
> 
> \- “You dear sweet apple…” — comes from Sappho’s 23rd fragment
> 
> \- Demeter: Greek goddess of the harvest, mother to Persephone. (Ciel sees himself as Hades no doubt.) 
> 
> \- Hermes: messenger of the gods, conductor of souls into the Underworld, and protector of merchants, boundaries, and travelers. 
> 
> A/N: Stage three—bargaining. This was a little harder to write than the previous two chapters but I decided to utilize a more desperate edge to Ciel’s bargaining with deities, spirits, his own mind, etc. because everything is now so out of his control that he’s trying to bargain with himself thinking “if I do/promise her this, Lizzy will come back.”
> 
> (Thank you all so much for your reviews & feedback ^^)


	4. Melpomene

_November 1889_

 

Dearest Elizabeth, 

Today the calm cool face of the river asked me for a kiss. I declined, of course, out of respect for you but also because Bath has yielded few results and I am anxious to return home. To see with my own two eyes the fate that lies before me. I have come to the bitter end of an inevitable conclusion that you were never mine to keep, were you? These fragments I have shored, a desperate, flimsy barricade against the truth that, once discovered, can never be turned away again.

The sky seems an endless black and I find the weight on my chest difficult to ignore—not pain, per se, but a dull, reaching ache that extends to the thoracic cavity of my misplaced heart. I sip the air with small, ungrateful breaths and find that Bath—and London and Suffolk and all the cities of England—have been saturated with a grotesque darkness that now deprives them of color. And the weight continues to sink into my chest, compressing into me with an intensity that feels breakable.

You see Lizzy, this afternoon was rather wretched. The manor house we stayed in lacked the proper utensils for tea so I was forced to measure the contents of my day with coffee spoons. It gave the tea a faint bitterness that lingered on the tongue and, once swallowed, burned down my throat with a lingering sour taste that I found disgusting and entirely unpleasant. And Sebastian, that lamentable creature, thought it all so terribly _amusing._ My words, he claimed, would have carried more weight had I not used them so often.

But I find now that the regret of time’s past has come to haunt me and I have overused not only words but the forgiveness of your character. For a long while I thought myself alone but it was only after you left that I began to understand what true loneliness was. You, who came to me with your love for sunshine and pretty things and cheerfulness. And I, who turned you away.

You see, I am nobody’s darling—nor do I wish to be. But, for the briefest moment, for the clearest second, while we stood aboard the Campania and the sea breeze blew by I thought, for half a heartbeat, that I might be a little in love with you. I could not dream very far, you see, and could only conjure the image of you, smiling under the sun. But for someone like me, bound beneath the moonless sky, it was the dearest image I could have dreamed.

Don’t let me alone just yet. Let me hold onto you for a few seconds more. I have been bruised and ruined by callous, angry hands and you have tried to heal me though you need not have tried so hard. I have no desire to heal, Elizabeth—only to hold onto you, for a little while longer. Your hands clasping mine until my palms are warm and my cheeks regain color. 

The weight on my chest pushes down on me with heavy contempt each passing day and I am left bleeding. The lacerations are deep and carelessly cut—most of them my own design—for the fickle path to hell is paved not with good intentions but with a terrible desire to press on, no matter what the cost. I am half consumed by the abyss already and the promise of retribution is the only thing that has kept me alive for the past three years. (But _Elizabeth—_ even as I turned away and drowned myself with greater force, you made the world around me the smallest bit bearable.) 

I am indebted to you, Elizabeth, and I have not forgotten the promise I made to you on the Atlantic. 

It is true that most men fear isolation from the world, but I have learned better. The decades pass and the ripe earth withers but there nothing I fear so much as the possibility of being  _too late._ Half a measure behind, a few moments too slow—

Wait for me Elizabeth. Wait just a little while longer.

 

— _Ciel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- “Today the calm cool face…” — lifted from Langston Hughes’ poem ‘Suicide’s Note’ 
> 
> \- “I was forced to measure…” — references T.S. Eliot’s poem ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ 
> 
> \- “You, who came to me with your love for sunshine and pretty things and cheerfulness.” — comes from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s debut novel ‘This Side of Paradise’ 
> 
> \- Melpomene: the Greek muse of tragedy 
> 
> A/N: One chapter left! (And I know this was supposed to be the depression letter but in my mind, Ciel has a will of steel and bone—he won't sink into depression but use it to fuel his revenge.) 
> 
> Feedback appreciated :)


	5. Eos

_December 1889_

 

Do you remember Lizzy when we were seven years old? When the mid-April rains had finally stopped (it was a terribly stormy month that year) and mother allowed me to visit Midford Castle to see you? Do you remember how you laid out a tea party for two in your camellia garden, with white china teacups and fine linen napkins? How we were bundled with more cashmere and wool than I care to remember and how you took one look at me and laughed so brilliantly I couldn’t find it in me to be angry at how you called me a roly poly for the rest of the afternoon?

Do you remember, Lizzy, when Aunt Frances called us in for luncheon and you insisted on fixing my cravat even though we were ten minutes late already? How we couldn’t keep still as we sat at the dining table, our young, eager eyes stealing glances out the window, praying for the sun to stay and the weather to keep. You said something charming about rose petals and soft clouds and shepherd's wool—and it was easy, so easy, for you to steal another smile. And I let you keep it, don't you remember? Because back then, all my smiles were yours.

Do you remember how we fled to your garden as soon as we were able, my hand in yours and your hand in mine? Two of a kind, lingering in the golden gleam. We were so young and foolish, our minds heady with the charmed dreams of what could be. How things seemed so infinite in that little garden, how we could flee from one daydream to the next, molding reality to our liking with such ease and grace that even now, I can hardly recall anything except the brightness of your smile and the warmth of our fingers twined together, the heart of your palm against mine.

Do you remember our final game in that garden Lizzy? How you were the princess and I, the scholar. How we laughed and smiled as we slayed sorcerers and beasts—I was the king of alchemy and you were my queen of everything. All in the golden afternoon we played, with little hands and childish sighs, murmuring fragments of sentences that are half a dream to me. You smiled so often then, Lizzy—such a sunlit smile that reminded me of beautiful things and delicate butterfly wings. Even now, I can’t put to words how lovely you are—if I try, I’ll simply make a mess of things as I tend to do. 

I wish for complexity and strive for inconsistency but, in truth, I desire nothing more than the simple daydreams we once created—so easily, so joyfully, in that white camellia garden. 

Do you remember that story you told me? About rain and water pearls and how everything lovely began with a teardrop falling from the sky. You said it made the earth grow, that it made everything  _alive_ but I've never been much for rain Lizzy. I don’t care about nourishment or consideration or any of those virtues poets seem to go on and on about without cognizance or sense. I don’t care about those horrid metaphors and similes and allusions to prose no one can decipher but everyone pretends to because it’s “sophisticated”—whatever that means nowadays.

I think the most beautiful things in the world begin with sunlight—begin with warmth and gentleness and _Lizzy,_ if no other words can describe the sun-fire beauty of you, then let it be this: you are a sunbeam, bending across a sky that has no beginning or end. You are every beautiful thought I’ve ever had, every dream I’ve ever dreamt, and every impossible wish I have given away.

So I ask: do you remember that mid-April morning when dawn lit over the horizon? When the world was bathed in the palest gold and softest pink, when the morning dew still clung to the fresh grass and all the trees were silent in their evergreen state. When you took my hand and I stood by your side, just us two, and a Venetian sunrise. You looked ahead, the breeze blowing your hair back. It tickled my nose and I smiled when you turned to apologize because truthfully, I can’t remember much of those colors or that sunrise.

I remember you—not the details of your face or the color of you dress but _you,_ the very essence of _you._

I’ve always remembered, even if such sentiments were unspoken.

I’m not quite sure how to send this letter to you but I know that one day, _one day,_ this letter will reach you. As dawn rises and a new day begins, I have—for the first time in a long time—hope.

 

_Yours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Eos: Greek goddess of the dawn 
> 
> A/N: Yes I borrowed from the pen of the wondrous Lewis Carroll and his Alice in Wonderland poems - can anyone spot all the references? ;) 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who left kudos, commented, or bookmarked this short fic - it was a joy to read your feedback!


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